


The Art of Creation

by Bookwormgal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel and Demon True Forms (Good Omens), Angels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Burns, Canon - TV, Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley's True Form (Good Omens), Demons, Fallen Angels, Fire, Gen, Hellfire, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Literal Deus ex Machina, Love, Other, Pain, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Second Execution Attempt, Self Sacrificing Tendencies, Self-Sacrifice, Serious Injuries, Temporary Character Death, Time Manipulation, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25550890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormgal/pseuds/Bookwormgal
Summary: Once upon a time, long before humans set foot outside of Eden and long before his inelegant landing in a pool of boiling sulfur, Crowley had been an angel. An angel with a very different name and far less cynicism. And that angel was made to build Her creations. He built stars, nebulas, and other beautiful and complicated things far out there in the cosmos. He shaped fundamental elements and materials into new creations. He molded burning fires and sculpted dust into breath-taking patterns. He started bright and powerful reactions, serving as a catalyst to spark the birth of stars. He set various celestial objects spinning.He built. He took raw materials and built wonderous things with them. He built because that was the role that She made him for. In the end, was rebuilding that much different than building? And wasn't rebuilding fairly close to healing?When it was his angel's existence on the line, Crowley was willing to grab at any chance available. He would find a way to fix what had been damaged. He would find a way to save him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 52
Kudos: 241
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Hurt Aziraphale





	1. Repair

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this idea came from. It just hit me in the side of the head the other day and burrowed into my brain. And then I had no choice except to proceed and see how much heartache I could cause.

In the beginning, She created the heavens and the—

Oh, you are familiar with this part? How there was originally nothing except for Her? And then She first formed and divided the physical and metaphysical? Yes, that moment. The very start of Creation.

It would be impossible to imagine what came Before. The closest that anyone might describe it would be to say that it was empty and lonely. It was easier to describe the Creation of everything than it was to describe what came before. But if She was lonely when there was nothing and no one, that state did not last long after She began Her work. Not that time truly existed as a proper concept yet. Time and the passage of it would not truly be settled into place until Earth was further along in construction.

She was capable of crafting the entire universe on Her own. That was one of the perks of being all-powerful. When She wished for there to be light, it came in to being. When She wished to separate what would become Heaven from what would become the physical reality, it became so. Building every piece of Her planned universe was easily within Her capabilities.

But She chose to create others. Helpers, messengers, protectors, and guides. To ensure that everything was given the focus and personal attention that every aspect of Creation deserved, She created others to serve Her. They could have been mere extensions of Her will. But being the only entity in existence would be a lonely state and Her Plans for the creation of humans would require longer preparations.

Before She created plants, birds, fish, wild beasts, or humans, She crafted Her angels.

Some things are beyond comprehension. They can never be truly understood. They are in fact… ineffable. And the most that you can manage is to use a metaphor or a simplified mental picture. It will not be completely accurate, but it will at least offer the illusion of understanding.

Imagine a sea of divine fire. A bright, burning, and holy substance that was part of the first Light. It held little similarity to the gentle light of the first day and it only resembled actual fire if you were to tilt your head and squint. But it was an endless sea that held a small portion of Her power, Her fury, Her mercy, and Her love.

Now imagine Her reaching into that sea of divine fire and lifting out a little in Her cupped hands. And from that raw material, She would mold and shape the divine flames. Crafting wings, eyes, spinning wheels that burn, and beautifully bright things that mortals could never properly gaze upon without collapsing into pure awe. At least, that was how they would react once mortals existed. And once She was satisfied with what She sculpted, when She had crafted their shape and their self to fit the angel’s purpose, She would finish. She would give the creation the Breath of Life, pouring in Her love, and then She would _spake_ their Name. And thus the angel would _be_.

She created every angel Herself, one at a time as She focused on making each unique and different from each other. Each angel sculpted was special and given a Name that would be used only once, never to be repeated when She molded another. And every angel was crafted for a specific purpose. Even when they didn’t truly know what that purpose might be.

Most were obvious and straightforward. Some angels were made to help with the act of creation, to build and craft the physical universe according to Her directions. They tended to be creative and imaginative, working on projects ranging from building stars and nebulas to tweaking the designs of nitrogen-fixing bacteria.

Some angels were made to guard Her other creations, because She knew everything. And She knew even in the beginning that Her creations would need protection someday when some of Her angels began to stray. Someday, Earth would need protection and it would not always be obvious to most of Her angels. She also crafted soldiers and warriors for similar reasons. Not to guard, but to fight back when the time came that Her precious angel betrayed and attacked their brethren.

And some angels were made to be shepherds of a sort. They were meant to guide and organize the other angels, to ensure that there would be direction and order even when She did not provide specific instructions. It would be some time before they developed into bureaucrats.

Every angel was created for a specific role and were given traits to help them accomplish that role. Their personalities and temperaments were crafted to help them find fulfillment within their tasks rather than dissatisfaction. They were made for their jobs.

Gabriel was crafted to be the messenger. Michael was made to be the warrior. Neither of them was made with the same creativity and imagination that She gifted the angels in charge of building Her creations. A certain amount of deviousness and ruthless, but not true imagination. Neither of them needed those traits through most of their existences.

And thousands of years later, that had not changed. After the Fall, after the progression and development of humankind, after the Apocalypse did not come to pass as expected, after they were confronted with the idea that they did not know Her Ineffable Plan as well as they believed and did their best to bury that uncertainty, and after Heaven and Hell failed to execute the two that they blamed for the continued existence of Earth, their creativity had not developed further than what they needed for their original roles.

They did, however, remain stubborn. Gabriel remained rigid, methodical, and focused. Michael remained cold, calculating, and certain in the face of what she considered to be a threat. More imaginative angels might have tried a new strategy when holy water and hellfire failed them. Less determined angels might have swept the entire mess under the metaphorical rug. But they were what She made them to be. They were bound to try again.

They kept their intentions quiet. They could not risk sowing dissention or doubt among the rest of Heaven. The first attempt to execute Aziraphale had been a private affair, but the secrecy was stronger during the planning for the second. They did not even mention their intentions to Uriel or Sandalphon. For their own good. The pair saw no reason to risk others being harmed if Aziraphale and his demon proved to me more dangerous than expected. At least, that is the excuse that they would use if someone should ask.

Through the back channels that no one acknowledged existed, Beelzebub was contacted. Ze thought that they were idiots to even consider a second attempt so soon, but ze tossed Hastur at them. He was causing enough trouble, alternating between hysterics about how the spray bottle _wasn’t_ a bluff after all and could have killed him and snarling about how he would rip Crowley apart. It was frankly distracting. Beelzebub wouldn’t be that upset if the Duke of Hell managed to get destroyed in the process, though success would certainly be a welcomed surprise. And in exchange for the promise that they would assist in the demon’s execution _and_ would force Crowley to watch Aziraphale’s demise first, Hastur would supply the angels with the necessary hellfire. Michael found him to be more annoying to cooperate with than the late Ligur, but the ends justify the means.

From there, the plan was simple. Simple and not very creative. But sometimes the straightforward approach could be the most devastating.

* * *

Seven months, two weeks, and four days.

That was all the time that had passed since the near destruction of everything that they held dear. Aziraphale and Crowley hoped that Heaven and Hell would leave them alone for longer than that. It was barely any time at all. Not enough time to truly relax and embrace their newfound freedom and their more open and honest relationship with one another. It was just enough time to start. And it was just enough time to lower their guard a little.

Seven months, two weeks, and four days after their failed executions, they were in the park again. Aziraphale and Crowley sat on one of their preferred benches, watching the ducks and _not_ engaging in a secretive meeting with each other. There was no tension or worry about what would happen if someone noticed them. It was a comfortable and warm silence. Relaxed and friendly. And if any of the ducks familiar with their past meetings decided to look up from their snacks to glance in their direction, the ducks might have noticed a few small changes.

Crowley’s arm rested casually along the back of the bench, letting it curl supportively behind Aziraphale. The angel’s posture was a little more relaxed, the stiff tension that had been there for thousands of years finally easing the smallest amounts. And they sat closer together than they would have dared risked less than a year before. Close enough that their shoulders nearly touched half the time and Crowley could feel some of the warmth radiating off Aziraphale. But most importantly, they smiled. A bright and carefree smile from the angel and an open and honest one from the demon.

But even if the ducks should notice those changes, they wouldn’t really care about them. All that mattered was that the pair continued to feed them.

It was a nice change. They were happy, occasionally talking about treasured memories of the past as they watched the ducks. Aziraphale and Crowley basked in the warmth of the precious thing that they created together. Their own side.

Neither of them was prepared for someone to clobber them in the back of the head with a metal pipe. While they were more durable than most humans and the impact would only damage their corporeal forms, it was enough knock them out. At least their physical bodies were strong enough that the impact didn’t risk discorporation.

Unlike what was shown in the action movies that Crowley was particularly fond of, knocking someone unconscious with a blow to the head could easily cause death instead. But most angels and demons remained blissfully ignorant of that fact. Which was why someone would risk it. From Michael and Hastur’s point of view, it was the simplest method to snatch up the traitorous pair with minimal fuss.

At that point, the unconscious pair missed out on Michael and Hastur tossing away their makeshift weapons and dragging the slumped figures through the park past miraculously oblivious humans. They also missed being shoved into a white van and Gabriel’s rather laughable attempt at driving it. The only witnesses to the sequences of events were the aforementioned ducks, who were only concerned by the fact that _now_ no one was feeding them and they considered that to be rather rude.

Seven months, two weeks, and four days after the last attempt, Aziraphale and Crowley were taken to face their second planned executions.

* * *

Crowley’s slow and groggy return to awareness was heralded by the sounds of roaring flames, the heat pressing against him, and the stabbing and pounding headache that seemed determined to split his skull in half. None of which made the concept of consciousness very appealing. As he reluctantly tried to drag his muddled thoughts into some type of order, the demon noticed a few other things. He was kneeling, unforgiving concrete under his knees. A strong arm snaked around his chest, pinning his arms to his side and keeping him upright. Holding him tightly against someone crouched behind him. Their other hand was squeezing Crowley’s shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh like talons.

But it was the scents… A strong and foul scent next to him with choking amounts of sulfur… And a couple of other scents that were more sterile and with a tang of ozone… Those sent a chill down Crowley’s spine.

“Is he awake yet?” asked Gabriel, his near presence grating on the demon’s nerves.

“We need to time this right.” Michael’s voice came from somewhere farther away and closer to the sounds of the flames. “Aware enough to experience the punishment, but not enough to resist. If their immunities are the result of active usage, it might be more effective to finish them off before they have a chance to focus.”

His arm tightening around Crowley’s chest, Hastur hissed, “Better wake up. I want you to see this. I want you to watch.” He let go of the barely-conscious demon’s shoulder in order to grab a fistful of Crowley’s hair, yanking his lolling head up. “Look at your soft and weak angel. Look at him. I don’t want you to miss this part.”

Crowley seriously considered pretending to still be unconscious. Partially because it might cause them to let their guard down a bit and provide him with an opportunity to get away. And it was always smart to take any advantage that you can. But he partially considered it out of pure spite and a reluctance to do whatever Hastur wanted.

But when the Duke of Hell mentioned Aziraphale, that idea immediately evaporated. His angel. They had his angel. Bleary yellow eyes pried their way open.

They were still on Earth. In an abandoned warehouse, because apparently they wanted to be traditional about their kidnapping and probably murder plans. The towering pillar of hellfire burned hungrily in the center of it. Hastur held him tight, Crowley on his knees with one arm restraining him and the other hand forcing him to look. Gabriel stood next to him with a pitcher of water that seemed to glisten dangerously.

But his attention fell on two figures near the roaring flames. Cold and calculating Michael stood there, holding a slumped angel who could barely stay upright even with her ruthless grip. There was blood in Aziraphale’s blond hair from when they were knocked unconscious and he wobbled unsteadily on his feet. And even as he blinked in confusion, the angel’s sought out the demon. And when their gazes locked, Aziraphale began fighting weakly against Michael’s hold.

Crowley started struggling as well. Even with a stabbing headache and his muddled thoughts from the head injury, he knew what was happening. The realization hit painfully hard in that moment. No fake trials. No empty smiles or remarks about the greater good. Simply the removal of a pair of obstacles. The decision as ruthless as Hastur’s unyielding grip.

They had to get out. That single thought made it through the muddled mess of his aching head. They had to get out now. It wasn’t safe. There were no prophecies to save them this time. They couldn’t switch their faces. They were in danger. His mind couldn’t seem to move beyond that, unable to focus properly through the remaining wisps of fog from his head injury.

Aziraphale’s struggles grew more and more coordinated, the angel starting to shrug off the grip of his previous unconscious state. But Michael held firm. Keeping the angel far too close to the deadly flames. Something in Crowley kept screaming that he needed to get Aziraphale away form her. Because he knew what was about to happen. Part of him refused to accept it and continued to fight to break free of Hastur. But the Duke of Hell was stronger in multiple ways. And he wasn’t trying to shove his way past what felt like a concussion.

And there was no time. There was no time and they had his angel.

“Crowley?” said Aziraphale in a shaky voice.

The demon opened his mouth to reassure him, to promise that they’d get through this, and to somehow sooth the anxiety and fear in his eyes. But he couldn’t manage a single sound before Michael moved, shoving her prisoner into—

Crowley’s wings manifested abruptly, flaring out to break Hastur’s hold and—

Aziraphale fell into the hellfire, screaming in agony as—

_Stop!_

Demonic power flared up, strengthened by pain and desperation. The world fell silent other than Crowley’s panting and horrified sobs. He stayed where he’d fallen on his hands and knees after breaking free, wings half extended and the demon struggling to breathe past the tears that were trying to drown him. Nothing moved as he tightly gripped the flow of time, refusing to let it move forward even a second more. No sounds and no movement. It took a while for Crowley to gather the courage to lift his head.

Everything remained frozen in place like a photograph. Hastur had been tossed back by Crowley’s unexpected escape, paused midway before he would have crashed on his back. The demon’s flailing arm had caught Gabriel, jostling the archangel and nearly knocking the pitcher from his hands. A few drops of holy water hung in midair, glittering like tiny diamonds. The droplets’ trajectory probably wouldn’t hit Hastur, which was a shame, but they lingered in their frozen position as a deadly reminder that Crowley’s execution was supposed to be next. Michael was trapped in the process of turning around in reaction to the sudden chaos. A frown of confusion was partially formed on her face.

He didn’t want to look past her. But he did. Crowley saw the towering pillar of hellfire. Silent and motionless. All the tongues of flames held still, frozen representations of light, heat, and hellish power. There were renaissance painters who would have sold their souls to create a sight as impressive and overwhelming as the motionless inferno. And in the middle of it was a blackening, charring, and collapsing figure.

Another sob choked him. His angel was _burning_. Trapped in the middle of certain destruction. And as soon as time continued forward, Aziraphale would finish burning. He would finish _dying_.

And there was nothing that Crowley could do to change that. He couldn’t hold the flow of time hostage forever. The longer it lasted, the harder it was to maintain; a gradually increasing pressure that would eventually crush him beneath it. Pausing time wasn’t quite the simple parlor trick that he made it look like. And he certainly couldn’t reverse time. He couldn’t go back and keep this from happening. All that he was doing was delaying the inevitable.

He was too slow. If he’d reacted sooner… If he’d stopped time before Michael could have… But it was too late. Aziraphale was burning to death and it was Crowley’s fault. He’d failed his angel. Aziraphale was dying in a painful and horrific way.

Grief, guilt, and despair clawed at the demon. Something deep inside him ached sharply. And the idea of Gabriel’s pitcher of holy water seemed inviting. More inviting than watching his angel burn away to nothing once time resumed. He couldn’t face eternity alone. And he couldn’t _fix_ this.

But he had to try.

Crowley swallowed back another sob and his fingers curled into shaking fists. Then he forced himself back to his feet, pulling his wings tight against his back. He shoved away the lingering remains of the headache and foggy thoughts. Any possible concussion would have to wait its turn because the demon had more important matters.

He marched forward past the others. Crowley didn’t bother looking at them anymore. They didn’t matter.

He walked right into the motionless flames. Hellfire might bite and snap at him normally, but it would never truly hurt a demon. At most they might feel a slight sting from the intense heat. Like sinking into a tub of water that is just a little too hot for comfort. The flames didn’t touch him as Crowley stepped into the burning pillar of fire, gathered up the scorched figure in his arms, and then carried the angel to the far side. He would rather keep an obstacle between the two of them and the others when time resumed, and the hellfire would work just fine for that.

Setting down the blackened and burnt figure on the concrete floor, Crowley took a shaking breath as he crouched over him. Then he reached with his powers. He gripped every spark of hellfire still clinging to the angel’s corporeal body and his true form. If he didn’t, then Aziraphale would continue to burn when time began again.

It didn’t want to obey his commands. Hellfire wasn’t something made to be controlled or harnessed. It was a substance of destruction and chaos. Hellfire would eagerly devour anything holy or angelic if given the chance.

No, it was beyond eager. It was _ravenous_. And even frozen in time, the hellfire was reluctant to release its hold. But Crowley managed to slowly draw the final traces of the fire out of the angel and cast it aside. Ensuring that Aziraphale couldn’t burn any further.

But it didn’t erase what devastation the flames had already wrought.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he murmured, taking a second to wipe away at the forming tears. “I’m sorry.”

Crowley focused on Aziraphale’s physical body first, ignoring the more concerning damage at the moment. He couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t let that doubt start slithering in again. One problem at a time.

The physical damage was already concerning enough. A human would die from shock due to how badly his body was burned. Everything looked blackened and like he was made of charcoal. Only the deepest parts of his body were less damaged. Humans had a scale depicting how serious burn injuries were, though Crowley wasn’t particularly familiar with it. He just knew that the second or so that Aziraphale was in the flames, he’d nearly been incinerated. And he knew that his angel shouldn’t resemble an overcooked brisket.

But thanks to the Arrangement, Crowley might just be the demon with the most experience when it came to healing humans and human-shaped corporations. He poured a powerful miracle into the motionless figure. Blackened skin and muscles gave way to smooth and pale flesh. Whole and healthy. He even repaired the charred clothes, restoring the favorite coat and other fabrics to their worn-in former glory. And any hint of the stench of burnt hair, skin, and flesh that might have hung in the motionless air disappeared. He gave Aziraphale back a healthy body and ensured that he wouldn’t discorporate back to Heaven. His angel would need a stable physical form in order to stay on Earth and Crowley refused to let Heaven claim him.

Crowley healed everything that he could because it kept him distracted from the more serious problem. The problem that he desperately refused to think about. The things that he couldn’t heal.

As the physical damage faded away, Crowley reluctantly turned his Sight towards Aziraphale’s true form. He knew what his angel truly Looked like. The process that they figured out to exchange each other’s appearances with the effect still being thorough enough to trick Heaven and Hell, the method that they devised to “choose their faces wisely,” turned out to be more intimate than they originally expected. And it gave Crowley a very thorough knowledge of Aziraphale’s true form. He knew every part of the angel. He knew Aziraphale’s true form in its entirety. He was intimately familiar with every last detail. Every part of him memorized and cherished like a precious gift. Thanks to that experience, Crowley knew the angel’s true form almost better than he knew his own.

And with that knowledge, Crowley could truly appreciate the horrors that he was Looking at. The hellfire had reacted to his angelic essence the same way that normal flames would devour and spread when exposed to kerosene. Every piece of Aziraphale had been scorched to varying extents. Entire structures essential to the overall stability of his true form were simply gone. Burnt away beyond recognition. Other chunks were blackened and crumbling apart. The ragged gaps and seared edges left behind were nauseating. There was less golden ichor than he expected, though Crowley didn’t know if time being halted was responsible for that or if the hellfire immediately cauterized the wounds as it went. The bright, holy, and shining true form of his angel was trying to collapse in on itself. The architecture of Aziraphale’s soul couldn’t support itself with so much burned away.

And Crowley couldn’t heal his true form.

Unlike healing the physical body, healing someone’s true form was difficult. There was a reason why there were specialized healers among the angels. It wasn’t something that everyone had the specific skillset, knowledge, or ability to achieve.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to fix this,” he whispered, frustrated and shaking with the helpless feeling trying to pull him under. “I’m not Raphael, angel. I’m not a healer. I don’t know how to fix it. I’m so sorry. I tried, but I can’t fix you.”

More hot and choked tears formed, forcing Crowley to swallow hard. He’d tried. He’d known the hellfire was a death sentence for angels, but he’d still tried. He’d clung to hope and desperation. But even with everything that he’d done, it wouldn’t matter.

Once time resumed, Aziraphale’s true form would finish collapsing, shattering, and crumbling. And time would resume soon enough; Crowley could already feel some of the strain from holding it back and healing what he could. Either he would release his grip on the flow of time or it would break free.

Time would move forward, and his angel would die from his wounds. The hellfire had already done enough damage. Aziraphale couldn’t survive. Crowley couldn’t fix…

His thoughts stumbled. An idea slithered through the grief and guilt.

Fix.

Not heal.

Fix. Repair. _Rebuild_.

Once upon a time, long before humans set foot outside of Eden and long before his inelegant landing in a pool of boiling sulfur, Crowley had been an angel. An angel with a very different name and far less cynicism. And that angel was made to build Her creations. He built stars, nebulas, and other beautiful and complicated things far out there in the cosmos. He shaped fundamental elements and materials into new creations. He molded burning fires and sculpted dust into breath-taking patterns. He started bright and powerful reactions, serving as a catalyst to spark the birth of stars. He set various celestial objects spinning.

He built. He took raw materials and built wonderous things with them. He built because that was the role that She made him for. And in the end, was rebuilding that much different than building? And could an angel’s true form be that much more complicated than some of the things that he created for Her?

Crowley knew every part of Aziraphale. It was as if he had a detailed diagram to follow. All he had to do was recreate what he remembered. Just fill in the blanks and smooth out the sections rough with damage.

Crowley grabbed tightly to the fragile hope. He could make it work. Rebuild what was destroyed. He immediately ignored the risks and complications trying to catch his attention. He couldn’t think about what could go wrong, about what might happen if he messed up trying to reconstruct the damaged parts. He didn’t think about how a mistake could kill Aziraphale regardless, could erase some or all of his memories, could rewrite his personality, or could cause a dozen other problems. He didn’t think about it because he refused to believe that he could make a mistake. Not when he knew Aziraphale perfectly.

A shaking hand dragged through the restored hair in a gesture of comfort, even if the angel wouldn’t notice. Start with the easiest first. That was the best way to handle it. He should start where his true form was merely singed rather than where the hellfire burned away entire sections. It was smarter to try the easiest part when attempting something brand new.

Crowley took a slow breath as he went over the steps in his head. Take the damaged sections of the angel’s true form, force the material back into its raw and original state, remold it until the section was whole instead of partially destroyed, and then move onto the next area of repair. Straightforward and simple. Much simpler than setting up some of the more elaborate star systems.

Closing his eyes as he tried to focus, Crowley reached into the angel’s true self. He reached for the scorched essence and began manipulating it towards its original form of divine fire, forcing it to obey as he sculpted it back into the correct and intact shape. And Crowley gritted his teeth against the burn. Unlike with demons, Aziraphale’s essence still shone with Her love and grace. And Her love by nature was holy, which clashed with Crowley’s demonic nature. Someone like he wasn’t meant to mold divine fire. But he pushed his way through the pain, concentrating on the delicate work and holding the flow of time in place.

Because it was working. Crowley might be mildly burning himself in the process, but it was working. Slowly and carefully, he was restoring the scorched sections. Taking the pieces of his angel and reshaping them until they were shining and whole. As if they were never burnt. He wanted to fix everything. Every eye, every feather, and every glorious inch of the angel.

But he knew that there was a slight problem with his plan. Crowley started trying to be creative as he progressed. He tried taking some of the less essential pieces, pulling them away from their original locations as he reduced them back to pure divine fire. Then he reshaped and relocated them to fit somewhere else in the angel’s true form. Somewhere that was more vital and more seriously wounded. Trying to rebuild support structures and fix the lethal injuries to a more manageable state. Because he knew that he didn’t have enough to go around. The hellfire burned away large areas of Aziraphale’s true form and rearranging the essential elements could only do so much.

That was the difference between healing and rebuilding. Healing involved using energy to encourage the patient’s injuries to repair or reverse and for diseases to weaken and fade. It was a matter of strength and available power. Building or rebuilding involved using raw materials to produce the desired creation. Whenever he’d made stars and nebulas, he’d used various elements provided by Her or the other teams of angels who specialized in creating things like hydrogen.

He couldn’t create something out of nothing. Crowley could create physical things out of raw firmament, like his clothes. But that was still using _something_. A metaphysical material that any demon or angel could theoretically access with their miracles. But that wasn’t good enough. Not for repairing an angel’s true form. He needed the original material to work with. Nothing could serve as a proper substitute for the divine fire that She used to forge Her angels.

And no matter how carefully Crowley tried to recycle what he had available, he had to accept that there was too much angelic essence missing. He’d shuffled things around, hoping that he could at least patch Aziraphale up enough to survive even if he was still hurt. Wounded, but alive would have been acceptable. But there was too much gone.

With a dull throbbing pain from manipulating a material that he was never meant to handle, an overpowering exhaustion creeping in, and the pressure of time striving to break free of his grasp, Crowley struggled to smother the sobs before they could start again. He couldn’t save Aziraphale. He’d come so close. Closer than he probably should have managed. But he had nothing left to fill the remaining wounds to Aziraphale’s true form. All his efforts to help and all that Crowley managed to do was ensure that his angel died a little slower.

He was so close. That’s what made the failure hurt worse. Crowley would do anything to fix this, but he’d hit a dead end. Without any more raw material to work with, he didn’t have anything to fill those gaping wounds. He couldn’t keep fixing his angel. He couldn’t—

Crowley stiffened as one idea finally reached him, leaving him cold and calm. When he was an angel, he was made to create. She made him to be creative, imaginative, and adaptive to challenges. And that imagination had handed him an insane solution. He needed raw materials to finish rebuilding everything that was damaged and missing. He needed the divine fire that She crafted all Her angels from.

She used the same divine fire to make all Her angels. And naturally, that would include the demons. Same original stock and same origin. The only difference when you really thought about it carefully was that demons had Her love and grace stripped out of them due to the Fall. The basic materials would remain mostly the same. A little less divine, but close enough to be converted into spare parts.

At least in theory.

There was a source of material for Crowley to use. One that was easily accessible to him and more than enough to save Aziraphale. He just had to be brave enough to take this last chance.

He grinned sadly to himself, unable to resist the tears this time. Crowley knew what he was planning and what it would mean. There was a price to be paid for Aziraphale’s life. But it would be worth it. He knew it would be worth it.

Crowley turned his attention inwards, reaching into his own true form. He knew every healed scar and weak point, old injuries from the Fall. The places that would be the easiest points to crack and tear away. He knew that he wouldn’t have the willpower to do it repeatedly, so he needed to choose carefully. Somewhere that would provide him with enough material to patch up Aziraphale’s remaining injuries, but would still allow Crowley to survive long enough to finish. He would have to move fast to make it work.

Seven months, two weeks, and four days wasn’t enough time together. Six thousand years wasn’t enough time. An eternity wouldn’t be enough time. But Crowley couldn’t bring himself to regret a moment of what time that they did have together.

The unnatural silence of halted time shattered as Crowley screamed in absolute agony, tearing out a large chunk of his true form that he immediately poured into Aziraphale. Then the scream died down to ragged panting and whimpers as he forced himself to return to the previous task of rebuilding what was damaged. His efforts were shaky and clumsy compared to before, but Crowley worked frantically to shape the substance to fill the angel’s wounds. Like a metaphysical organ transplant.

He shoved down the wracking waves of agony that continued to go through him. He just needed to focus. He just needed to finish. He had to rebuild Aziraphale’s true form before the pain, the exhaustion, and the ichor bleeding from the deep self-inflicted wound caused Crowley to collapse.

His concentration tried to faulter. It was getting harder to think. And more difficult to remold the no-longer-divine fire to repair the gaps that were burned away. But he tried to remember that he must be almost finished. He must be getting close. As soon as his angel could survive, it would be over. He just needed to hold on a little longer.

He lost track of the nonexistent passage of time. Everything seemed to narrow down until all that mattered was the unbearable agony, the crushing pressure of time struggling to break free, Crowley’s fading strength, and fixing his wonderful angel. There was so much burned away. That’s why he’d needed to rip out so much of himself. The hellfire destroyed large swaths of Aziraphale’s true self. And no matter how quickly Crowley tried to work, there always seemed to be more that needed replacing.

Crowley was struggling to keep going. Couldn’t let time slip out of his grip and couldn’t make any mistakes, but it was hard. Everything hurt. All his strength was pouring of him. Bleeding out too fast on a metaphysical level, his own true form the one now on the brink of collapse. His corporation was reacting to the pain and stress of the more dangerous wound. He was shaking, his heartbeat felt rough in his chest, and his breathing kept coming out in ragged gasps. But he only needed to remain in control for a little longer. Stay awake and hold on until Aziraphale could survive. That’s all that he had to do. He could focus that long.

He could tell the difference between the pieces that Crowley gave the angel and the sections that originally belonged to Aziraphale. Like comparing tarnished bronze to gold. Crowley’s true form could never shine the same way, even after it was removed from the demon. He shaped and wrapped his sacrificed essence around Aziraphale’s brightness. Crowley could only hope that it wouldn’t cause any problems not to have Her love and grace filling every corner of his angel’s true form. Most of him would still be the same. Just a few patches that were duller. Maybe it wouldn’t be different enough to change him.

Same original stock. Maybe not completely pure materials, but close. Hopefully close enough.

It would have been less painful to use one of the archangels responsible for the problem. Rebuild Aziraphale with the substance of actual angels. But Crowley wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking he was powerful enough to stand a chance of that working. Even with time paused so they couldn’t fight back, they were too strong. He couldn’t rip out what he needed from them. He couldn’t waste his energy trying. Neither of them had that kind of time.

Then Crowley was empty-handed. Metaphysically speaking. There was nothing left to rebuild with. He’d used it up. Then, a little slower than he should have, Crowley realized that he was finished. Every single particle back where it belonged. His angel’s true form rebuilt exactly as Crowley remembered. Aziraphale should be stable. It should be enough. If everything worked the way that he hoped.

But the only way to know for certain would be to let go and allow time to resume. Either the desperate plan would work and Aziraphale would survive or he would finish dying from what the hellfire caused.

Crowley managed to open his eyes, though it didn’t help him see much. His vision was swimming and the edges were going dark. He didn’t so much release his tight hold on the flow of time as he lost his grip as his strength failed him. The roar of the pillar of hellfire resumed, Hastur’s yelp of surprise and panic from nearly being hit by the holy water was quickly followed by frustrated demands about where Crowley vanished, and the abrupt coughing from an angel who suddenly was no longer in agony filled the previous silence.

The towering flames wouldn’t hide them forever, but they would block them from sight for a little while. That was all the protection that he could offer Aziraphale.

Pain wracked his true form, waves washing over him almost continuously as the demon tried to hold himself together a few moments more. He had to make sure it was enough. He needed to know that the repairs would hold.

The initial panicking and confused flailing didn’t last long after the angel realized that he was no longer burning to death. After a moment, he seemed to notice that Crowley was crouching over him. Aziraphale pushed himself up on his elbows, the action a little unsteady. He didn’t seem to be in any pain. He wasn’t breaking. His angel seemed confused, but there was recognition in his eyes. Crowley smiled weakly; Aziraphale was still himself. Crowley didn’t mess up and ruin his angel.

Words were out of reach. He couldn’t reassure, apologize, or even admit why he couldn’t let Aziraphale die. Speaking would require too much focus at that point. Instead, Crowley managed to reach a shaky hand up to cup the angel’s face.

Aziraphale felt incredibly warm to the touch. Practically burning hot. Or maybe Crowley was just too cold. Everything felt wrong. Like he was unraveling painfully, but it was worth it. His angel was alive. Despite everything, he saved him from the hellfire. It was worth tearing himself apart for that impossible chance.

He gave Aziraphale his heart a long time ago. Why shouldn’t he give his angel the rest of him?

Aziraphale was trying to speak to him. Crowley could vaguely see his mouth moving, but there was a ringing in his ears that was swiftly growing deafening. He couldn’t make out the words. And his blurry vision was growing darker. After a couple seconds, he could barely see the angel’s face in front of him. But Crowley felt him touch the demon’s cheek, mirroring the way that he was holding Aziraphale’s face with a trembling hand.

Crowley leaned into the gentle touch as his eyes slid shut. He saved Aziraphale one last time. And for that, he had no regrets. That was worth the pain and everything else that would follow. He'd made his choice.

Something in him gave way and the waiting embrace of darkness swallowed him whole.


	2. Recreate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to hear that everyone is deeply upset about the first chapter of this and are demanding that things get better in the next one. I’m afraid to say that they don’t immediately improve.

Aziraphale went from unimaginable amounts of agony to none in what felt like an instant. And the sudden change hit almost as hard as the previous pain. The shock left him coughing and struggling to adapt. He could still feel the scream in his throat as his body twitched and fought against the nonexistent suffering. It didn’t make sense. Even when he was struggling to regain his wits from the head injury, Aziraphale knew that Michael pushed him into the hellfire. He knew that happened. He remembered feeling himself burning. But now he was lying on his back, intact and whole while Crowley crouched over him.

Crowley.

Aziraphale pushed himself up on his elbows as Crowley slowly smiled at him. A weak, shaky, exhausted, and relieved smile. Then Crowley reached for his face, Aziraphale vaguely noticing the archangels’ voices and Hastur’s accusation in the background somewhere beyond the towering hellfire.

It felt reassuring, feeling Crowley’s hand. Something gentle and comforting. Something drastically different than the far too recent memory of burning for that brief second. The pain hadn’t lasted long, but the intensity was terrifying. And something in Aziraphale still felt off compared to normal. Not bad, but different.

With all the confusing things happening so quickly, he needed the familiarity of the one constant in his existence. It helped to ground and calm him. Everything would be fine. Whatever happened, he knew that Crowley must have been the one to fix it. Which was unsurprising. He’d always saved Aziraphale.

But something was wrong. The longer he looked, the more obvious it became. Crowley’s hand was shaking and clammy. He was pale to the point of looking ashen. His breathing came out as struggling and ragged gasps. His wings were out, but they were limp and drooping behind him. Practically draping on the chilly concrete. And with his sunglasses gone, quite possibly lost during their kidnapping and transport, there was nothing to hide Crowley’s face. His golden-yellow eyes were growing duller, not quite focusing on him. There were tears streaked down his face. And Aziraphale could feel something he couldn’t exactly identify; a sensation of something slipping away.

“Crowley?” he asked quietly, trying to bury the dread bubbling up. “Are you all right?”

The demon didn’t respond to his voice. As if he couldn’t hear Aziraphale. His eyes just seemed grow more distant. Aziraphale reached for his face, the demon feeling uncomfortably cold to the touch.

“Crowley, what happened?” he asked, scared of what the answer might be. Because Aziraphale knew that he should be hurt and that Crowley was likely the reason that he wasn’t, but now the demon wasn’t acting right instead. “What did you _do_?”

He didn’t react to the words. Crowley simply leaned into Aziraphale’s gentle touch, his head lolling slightly as if his strength was draining out of him. Crowley’s hand was trembling against the angel’s face. Like it was a struggle to keep it in place. The demon’s eyes closed and suddenly all the pain and exhaustion were completely obvious in his expression. And his resigned acceptance.

“What did you do, Crowley?”

The labored breathing gave out, turning into an exhausted sigh. Crowley’s hand finally went limp and started to fall away. But before the demon could collapse further into an unconscious pile, his ashen complexion became more literal. Crowley’s entire form dissolved away into falling cloud of ash, smoke, and a few red sparks that quickly fizzled out. And even those traces vanished before they hit the ground.

Aziraphale stared in numb shock, his hand still cradling the empty air where the demon should be. He just stared, silent and unmoving. That didn’t just happen. That was the only thought that filled the numb emptiness. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be real. What he’d just seen couldn’t be what he thought it meant.

That wasn’t what discorporation looked like. Not with the ash. And it wasn’t what it felt like, being near a demon discorporating. Aziraphale hadn’t witnessed it often, but he’d been around it a few times. But what just happened wasn’t discorporation. He couldn’t even feel the faintest traces of the familiar demonic presence. But what happened couldn’t be real.

Crowley couldn’t be… _gone_.

The protective numbness and shock that tried to insulate him from his emotions couldn’t hold up for long. It gave way to horror, growing despair, and grief. And a pain that had nothing to do with hellfire settled deep down and ached, like something sharp was tearing away at him. _Gone_. Crowley was gone. Aziraphale had just watched Crowley dissolve away into nothing. As if the demon had never existed.

Why? It didn’t make sense. Somehow Aziraphale didn’t die from the hellfire, but now Crowley was… He was…

 _Why_?

There was a low keening sound. It took Aziraphale a few moments to realize that wretched and broken noise was coming from himself. Cold tears ran down the angel’s face as his hand fell into his lap. His shoulders shook as he silently wept. The pain deep inside him made the previous burning hellfire pale in comparison; an emotional heartache instead of a physical one. Loss and regrets over everything that he never told Crowley… Regrets over the things that he’d never apologized for…

Angels were never meant to regret. Never meant to linger on lost opportunities. Never meant to mourn demons. But then, Aziraphale had realized already that he wasn’t like the other angels. Not when he continued to guard and protect the world even against Heaven, Satan, the Great Plan, and anything else that sought to destroy everything that he loved.

And yet he failed to guard and protect something equally precious in the end.

“Aziraphale,” said Michael, causing his head to snap up to see the small group finally moving around the pillar of hellfire. She looked surprised and displeased to see him. “How did you end up over here?”

“And still immune, I see.” Gabriel grimaced at him, a hint of frustration on his face. “That complicates things. I don’t suppose there’s a stronger version of hellfire, is there?”

Glaring, Hastur snarled, “Forget about that. Where’s Crowley?”

The question sent a fresh stab of pain through him. Aziraphale couldn’t stop seeing it in his mind. Crowley crumbling to ash in front of his eyes. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t even tell Crowley good-bye before he was gone. It was over before Aziraphale even realized what was happening. Crowley was gone and he would never see him again.

Hastur was suddenly in front of him, yanking Aziraphale to his feet and gripping his lapels tightly. The angel didn’t resist as Hastur pushed him back. Marching Aziraphale backwards towards the hellfire. Aziraphale could feel the heat pressing against him and knew that the demon had him right against the burning pillar again, ready to force him back into the flames.

Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Tell me where your demon pal went or I’m dragging you back in there until you _burn_ ,” he said venomously.

Not even flinching in the face of a murderous demon, Aziraphale said coldly, “All of you keep trying that. Over and over again. Does it look like I care if you do it again?”

“Where _is_ he?”

Gone. Gone forever. Crowley was gone and was never coming back. And nothing that they could do to him would hurt more than knowing that. Nothing could be worse than the agonizing loss of the dearest person in his existence. Nothing would ever feel right again.

When Aziraphale refused to say another word, Hastur lost patience with him. The demon shoved them both into the hellfire. Pain struck immediately, but not as strong and all-encompassing as before. Burning and stinging instead of sheer agony. And while Aziraphale clenched his teeth and hissed at the sensation, he felt Hastur’s grip loosen as he gawked in surprise at the lack of incinerated angel. He used the opportunity to shove Hastur away and marched back out himself.

He glanced down at his hands immediately afterward. There were no visible burns on himself or his clothes. But he could feel it. His skin ached, throbbed, and stung with every movement, rather like a serious sunburn. The kind that might eventually cause a few bubbling blisters. And yet there was no sign of it and the hellfire didn’t seem to reach much deeper than that. It made his true form uncomfortable, but not scorched. Almost like something was wrapped around his most vulnerable areas, shielding him from burning up. Maybe the damage would be more serious if he remained in the hellfire for longer than a moment or two, but Aziraphale shouldn’t have survive even that brief exposure.

A resistance rather than immunity then. Not perfect protection, but enough to survive.

He didn’t understand it. He couldn’t explain it. But he couldn’t ignore the obvious. Hellfire didn’t burn him the way that it should burn an angel.

“How?” asked Gabriel. “How are you able to do that?”

Trying to sound confident instead of confused, Aziraphale said, “You keep attempting the same thing and expecting different results. None of you are learning from your past mistakes.”

“If you aren’t enough of an angel to burn in hellfire, then perhaps you’ve Fallen far enough for something else to work,” said Michael coldly.

She grabbed the pitcher from Gabriel’s hands. Then in one smooth motion, Michael flung the holy water at Aziraphale and caused Hastur to shriek in terror, scrambling farther away as quickly as he could manage. The act was brutally fast, leaving no chance for Aziraphale to escape or avoid the unusual assault. Not that he actually tried. It splashed all across the angel’s waistcoat and soaked the fabric.

Aziraphale couldn’t help flinching, though his audience probably assumed it was from surprise. Holy water shouldn’t hurt an angel. It should even feel soothing and pleasant. He knew that. Which was why he wasn’t prepared for it to feel like Michael dumped hot tea on him instead. Burning hot, but not enough to truly cause damage. It didn’t hurt as much as the hellfire did. And yet it shouldn’t have happened at all.

Something had changed. Something was different about Aziraphale. He’d felt it earlier, but now he had an unnerving amount of proof.

And even if he knew it was foolish to jump to conclusions and that he had no proof that a demon would have the power to change such fundamental facts about an angel, Aziraphale couldn’t help wondering in that moment… what did Crowley _do_?

Her cold and collected façade cracking slightly as she stared at Aziraphale, Michael whispered shakily, “What _are_ you?”

“ **Something new.** ”

Six thousand years after he last heard Her voice, Aziraphale still immediately recognized it. The sound came from all around them, powerful and overwhelming. Ringing out on multiple planes. And with Her voice came the bright, holy, and warm light.

The three angels immediately fell to their knees in varying states of shock and awe while Hastur shrieked in absolute terror and plunged straight down through the concrete, taking the more direct path back to the safety of Hell. It was probably the smartest decision that Hastur ever made in his entire existence.

* * *

In the dark and empty voice outside of existence, the wispy remains of something that might have once been a demon vaguely noticed that it wasn’t alone. There was another presence. A powerful and dark presence that seemed to be everywhere, filling the vast emptiness. But he didn’t truly fill the emptiness. He was an absence.

It couldn’t be surprised or unnerved by the presence or his unnerving aura. Emotions were something that belonged to the living and to existence. Both were beyond the capabilities of that wispy thing. Even the faintest awareness that it was managing at that moment was a strain.

“What happens to me now?” it asked quietly. “Do I go somewhere? Do I just… fade away?”

“I CANNOT SAY. MY DUTY IS TO ESCORT THOSE WHOSE LIVES HAVE ENDED ACROSS THE THRESHOLD. WHERE THEY GO AFTERWARDS IS BEYOND MY CONTROL. I CANNOT DICTATE WHAT BECOMES OF YOU NEXT.”

Still numb and calm, it whispered, “What about Aziraphale? Is he all right?”

“HE LIVES.” There was a brief hesitation before he continued his response. “HE MOURNS YOUR LOSS, BUT THAT PAIN WILL NOT LAST FOREVER.”

“Oh… That’s good… Wouldn’t want him to be miserable the rest of his life…”

It was difficult to focus when existence was a quickly fading memory. But it tried to remember why it was important. To remember _what_ was important.

“I hope… my angel will still… be happy… someday…”

* * *

Even before She withdrew from direct contact with Her angels, most of them would only interact with Her a few times. They would witness Her glory when She first created them and perhaps a few times while they were in a large crowed. But beyond that, the average angel would receive Her Word handed down from another rather than have long conversations with Her. After all, She was busy with Her creations and the angels had their own jobs to do. It was a matter of prioritizing and delegating. There was a reason that Metatron had the job of relaying Her commands and why Gabriel was given the title of Her Messenger. Only some of the angels in higher positions were in regular communication with Her before She stopped speaking to anyone in Heaven.

Then there was the matter of Her silence for several thousand years. All of them were a bit out of practice with being in Her direct presence.

The point was that having Her speak to the trio of angels was not something that any of them were prepared for. None of them had started the day assuming that She would finally break her silence in a mostly-abandoned warehouse on Earth. Michael and Gabriel had more experience due to leading her armies in the War and serving as Her primary messenger respectively, but that had been a long time ago. And the last time that Aziraphale had an unexpected conversation with Her, he’d lied about his flaming sword. Not exactly a memory that he wanted to remind Her of currently.

While Her presence after such a long absence filled them with a feeling of incredible love and relief, there was also fear and dread. Rather like a group of children who were caught in the middle of some form of mischief that they knew their parents would disapprove of.

“My Lord,” said Gabriel, his eyes quickly dropping towards the ground.

Staring at Her bright glory was not advisable. Especially not using their corporations. Humans tended to go blind or at least end up rather useless immediately after, too overwhelmed by what they’d seen. Even angels had difficulties with prolonged exposure, which led to some of the ones who spoke with Her the most often using some of their wings to shield themselves. It was yet another reason why She communicated through messengers or through burning bushes.

None of them were in immediate danger of bursting into flames or falling into madness, even if they were using their more human senses to perceive Her glory and might. But it could grow uncomfortable after a while if She did not offer them an alternative. A less overwhelming shape to address.

After a moment, Her infinite and blinding infinity was tucked away out of sight. A human shape stood in the old warehouse where there wasn’t one before. A corporeal form for them to interact with that wouldn’t overwhelm them as much. But She didn’t immediately settle on an appearance. The figure initially remained in a state of flux.

First, She resembled Eve with the woman’s warm brown skin, though Her black hair was woven into intricate patterns along Her scalp that Eve had never worn. Then an older human with wrinkly leather skin with storm-grey eyes and wispy white hair. And then a child with red hair and freckles dancing across pale skin. An androgynous figure with a bald head and bronze complexion. A tall and muscular fellow with powerful arms and braided blond hair. A petite and willowy young woman with smooth black hair and bright eyes. Every shifting appearance wore the same beautiful robes, the fabric lighter and stronger than anything crafted with earthly materials.

And then the changes stopped as She seemed to settle on a form for the upcoming conversation. Copper brown skin, dark hair that reached Her jawline, and fathomless eyes that seemed to hold the entire universe. Physically, She looked like a young woman who had just reached adulthood, but that illusion was only skin deep. One look was all that it took to notice that She felt ageless. Ageless and timeless, as if She could have stepped out of any point of history. She could have just as easily belonged upon the Ark as she could in ancient Greece, on a vessel during the age of piracy, or in a café in modern London.

“ **Gabriel. My Messenger** ,” She said evenly. “ **Michael. My Warrior. What brings you to this place? Why have you come here, hiding your intentions from My other children?** ”

Aziraphale saw their eyes widen at her question. He knew their mirrored expressions. He could tell what the two archangels were thinking. Adam and Eve looked the same way after they ate the forbidden fruit and She asked why they tried to hide away from Her. Aziraphale suspected that he looked the same way when She asked about the flaming sword. And no matter his feelings towards the two of them, Aziraphale felt like he should offer them some type of warning against making the same mistakes. It was the right thing to do.

“I wouldn’t try lying to Her if I was you,” he said quietly. “She will know if you do. She knows everything. There’s no point in lying to Someone omniscient.”

The twin glares made it clear how little that they appreciated Aziraphale’s comments, but they didn’t say anything to him. Probably because getting into a petty argument in front of Her wouldn’t look good for any of them.

“We were attempting to punish the traitor who disrupted Your Great Plan, My Lord,” said Michael. “Aziraphale has turned against you. He turned his back on Heaven, conspired with a demon, and worked against Your Plan in order to prevent Armageddon from rightfully taking place. Such sins should not be overlooked, though we did not want other angels to ask further questions about his crimes when they should focus on more important matters.”

Aziraphale shook his head and said, “I never turned against Her. Everything that I did was what I believed was right. There was no reason for the world to be destroyed and for so many lives to be lost. It had to be a mistake. She could not truly want that.”

“Further insolence and blasphemy,” scoffed Gabriel. “You dare presume to know Her intentions?”

“Isn’t that what all of you did?” he asked. “Everyone thought that She wanted the world to end and none of you thought that you could be wrong. You never considered it because everyone wanted another War.”

“There was a _Plan_ ,” said Gabriel as if it was the most obvious thing in Creation.

“That doesn’t mean that you understand it.”

“ **There is a Plan** ,” She said, Her firm tone immediately silencing them. “ **And if you recall, part of My Plan involves testing My creations.** ” She looked at all three of them with a patient expression. “ **Did none of My angels recall that they are also My creations? Did none consider that it was not merely My humans who were being tested?** ”

Growing pale, Gabriel asked, “Do you mean… the Great Plan is…?”

“ **It is not the same as My Ineffable Plan** ,” She confirmed. As Gabriel gained the thousand yard stare of someone watching their entire understanding of the universe shattering before their eyes, She continued, “ **The Great Plan was merely part of that testing. To see how those with that knowledge would react and behave. Different individuals faced different challenges. Each of you to be confronted by things that are difficult. What actions you took or will take are what matter. It is your responses and decisions that I am testing, My children.** ”

“What are you testing, My Lord?” asked Gabriel in a strained and uncertain voice. “Because if it is obedience to You, all of Heaven has followed without question. No one has strayed.” His eyes briefly darted towards Aziraphale. “With one exception.”

“ **I am testing different things** ,” She said solemnly, “ **depending on what each individual needs to learn. Obedience and faith for some. But others are tested for their patience, for their kindness, for their empathy, for their compassion…** ” Her gaze focused on Gabriel and Michael before drifting towards Aziraphale with a mysterious smile. “ **Or for their courage. Various virtues are being tested. Though I will admit that critical thinking skills is one that has been tested quite often. Sometimes it seems like no one uses the minds that I gave them. But just as humanity must be tested, so too must I test all My angels. Some are meeting My expectation better than others.** ”

Aziraphale shivered slightly under Her gaze. He couldn’t help wondering if he was one of the angels who was disappointing Her. He tried to do the right thing, but he was aware of his flaws. Like his willingness to indulge in various pleasures and embracing so many earthly things. Behaviors unfitting for an angel. Whatever tests that She might have arranged for him, Aziraphale couldn’t help worrying that he’d failed Her.

Though he also wondered if Gabriel and Michael shared the same fears or if they maintained the same self-righteous mindset even in the face of Her new revelations.

“Why now, My Lord?” asked Michael, somehow sounding composed as she tried to hide her betrayed expression. “No angel has spoken with You for thousands of years. I know that even Metatron has met only silence of late. Why have You come to speak with us now?” The angel glanced towards Aziraphale suspiciously. “Did You only return for his sake? Has he become Your favorite, held above all others who love and obey You? Is that why hellfire won’t touch him?”

“ **I have not appeared before you because of your actions against Aziraphale** ,” She said.

Aziraphale shuddered at hearing Her use his name again. It had been such a long time since She spoke his name. He couldn’t describe how wonderful it felt. It made him feel warm, cherished, and loved.

“ **I did not come to protect him from your cruelties, though your actions are very disappointing,** ” She said, making the archangels wince. “ **No, My children. I am here because I wish to see what one of my starbuilders has wrought. It has been a very long time since any of My angels have created something truly** ** _new_** **. Something completely unique within all of Creation. Is it so surprising that it would draw My attention? Is it surprising that I would be interested in what My angels craft? Even when the one responsible has long since Fallen?** ”

And that reminder brought back the waves of grief that the shock of Her arrival temporarily banished. Crowley… What did he do?

“ **Gabriel and Michael** ,” She said firmly, “ **return to Heaven and attempt some self-reflection concerning your behavior. This is the only warning that you shall receive from Me. Look closely at your actions and ask yourselves if this is the path that I would want My children to follow. It grieves Me when My children lose their way.** ”

Eyes wide and uncertain, the archangels climbed to their feet. They moved cautiously towards the door of the warehouse. Neither of them looked eager to leave and they certainly seemed unnerved by what She’d told them, but they went. Neither of them would directly question or disobey Her commands.

When they were gone, She turned Her attention back towards Aziraphale. She circled around him, peering closely. The human shape that She’d chosen was a little shorter than him, but it was less noticeable with him still kneeling on the concrete. Aziraphale shivered as Her eyes seemed to look straight through him to his core. She could See everything about him and Aziraphale couldn’t hide anything. It left him feeling exposed. Exposed, and yet oddly cherished.

“ **Beautiful** ,” She said with a warm smile. “ **Not quite a normal angel anymore, but stitched together with something else. Your missing pieces filled by one of the Fallen. You can feel the difference, can you not?** ”

“The hellfire,” whispered Aziraphale shakily. "And the holy water hurt me.”

“ **A balance between what you were and everything that he gave you.** ”

“What did Crowley do?”

The quiet and timid question barely came out as a whisper. He needed to know. And there was only one person who might have the answer. Aziraphale just hoped that She would answer and that asking that question would not be considered the same as _questioning_ Her.

Though if he wasn’t quite a normal angel anymore, was Falling even a possibility for him? Or had he been shifted sideways into a new role? Aziraphale didn’t know and didn’t want to risk finding out the hard way.

“ **He gave of himself. Where you were wounded, he made you whole. He gave himself to you. He gave out of love. He gave until he could no longer survive with what was left. All that remains of the angel who Fell long ago are the parts of himself now woven through your true form, My child.** ”

Aziraphale’s hand drifted up to his chest as he blinked the pinpricks of tears. He’d felt different since Crowley pulled him out of the hellfire, but now he knew why. He was right before. Crowley did save him. It just destroyed him in the process.

“Did he know what would happen to him?”

“ **He knew what he was sacrificing to prevent your destruction. And the parts of him that he added to you have created something completely new.** ” Her hand gently brushed along his cheek in a parental gesture of affection. “ **A beautiful and unique creation to protect My world and My humans while My other angels learn what their testing is meant to teach them.** ”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could feel the changes to himself properly. The places where his true form felt a little different. A slightly different texture. Places where it didn’t shine with Her love. He hadn’t lost it; there were merely random sections of himself where Her love and grace didn’t touch. Aziraphale couldn’t help being reminded of a patchwork quilt.

He knew that She said. But the different pieces didn’t really feel like Crowley. They didn’t feel demonic. They didn’t feel like mischief, smooth scales, apples, and curiosity. They didn’t feel like his dearest friend. Aziraphale wished that he could feel something, maybe the faintest echoes of Crowley buried in his true form. Some sign that he wasn’t truly gone. But there was nothing that felt familiar. Not like what he wanted.

Crowley gave him so much. He could tell how much of himself had been replaced. Which meant that those places had been burned away by the hellfire and carefully filled with Crowley’s essence until there was very little evidence of what happened. Aziraphale didn’t know if he would describe himself as beautiful, but those strange and new pieces were all that Aziraphale had left of Crowley.

But it didn’t feel like he was allowed to dwell on that for long. She was already giving him a new assignment. A task that was essentially the one that he’d been performing for thousands of years. Aziraphale was originally made to guard and protect. First a garden and the first humans, but eventually the rest of humanity and Earth. It felt right, having Her ask this of him. They put in all that effort to save the world from the apocalypse, even if it was ultimately Adam and the others who did it. But they tried and risked everything for the world and humankind. It was only right to keep everything safe moving forward. Help out the humans and ensure that they keep going, being amazing, creative, and incredibly good and evil in equal measures. That’s what they’d wanted. They wanted everything to continue.

But…

“I’ll be alone,” he whispered.

Eternity stretched out before him. Thoughts of birds in spaceships flying towards distant mountains and the soundtrack of “The Sound of Music” filled his mind. Eternity was difficult to conceptualize properly, even for entities thousands of years old. But that was what Aziraphale was facing. An eternity alone on Earth.

Even after Her talk with Gabriel and Michael, Aziraphale didn’t expect much companionship from Heaven and he certainly never received any true compassion from the other angels before. And as delightful as individual humans were, their lives were short and growing close to them repeatedly was a painful experience. He often needed a break after befriending humans because it always hurt when they were gone. Neither humans nor angels would fill the emptiness that Crowley left behind. Aziraphale’s future was destined to be a lonely existence for the rest of eternity.

“ **Aziraphale. Guardian of the Eastern Gate. And now Guardian of Earth** ,” She said gently. “ **Was Adam left alone in Eden? Or did I give him companionship?** ” The angel opened his eyes and She gave him a kind smile. “ **Do not give into despair. I would not leave one of My dear children in solitude. If there is new creation who is one of a kind, then there should be another to stand with him.** ”

A flicker of something cautious, fragile, and small began to curl around the emptiness that hadn’t stopped hurting since he saw Crowley disappear. He didn’t want to call it hope. Not yet. Because if he truly acknowledged it, then everything would hurt worse if he turned out to be wrong. But he wanted that hope.

“Will… will You bring him back? Will You bring him back like he was before?”

“ **It is not that simple, My child. I only create each angel once, Naming them to give them life and existence. I never repeat that Name during creation again. I will not recreate Gadreel. That angel would not be who you desire** ,” She said softly, Aziraphale startling slightly at the casual use of what must have been Crowley’s original name. “ **And I will not create a demon. The act of creation is an act of My love and the Fallen’s existence is defined by the absence of My love within them.** ” She reached over and gently tilted his head up to face Her properly. “ **Do you trust Me, My child?** ”

Blinking back a few more tears that were trying to fall, Aziraphale asked, “Don’t You know that I do?”

“ **Of course I know, Aziraphale. I merely wanted you to be certain of that as well.** ” Turning away from the angel, She walked back towards the burning pillar. “ **Do you know what this is?** ”

“Hellfire,” he said, uncertain of where She was going with the topic.

“ **The opposite of the divine flames of creation. A complete absence of Me and it eternally hungers for what it lacks. That is why it devours anything holy and leaves the Fallen untouched. Angels crafted from divine fire and still filled with My love are quickly consumed. But it can never change because it can never fill that absence.** ” She smiled enigmatically as She reached for the burning flames. “ **And yet with My power, it can transform to its true nature. The divine flames of creation and the true essence of all My angels.** ”

Her hand stretched into the roaring hellfire and, even though he knew that nothing could harm Her, Aziraphale couldn’t help the tiny squeak of protest. But a second later, he felt something shift. The vague uncomfortable sensation that had been prickling at the edge of his mind became something different. Something almost soothing, familiar, and warm. It reminded him of the feeling of holding his flaming sword. The fire still burned just as brightly, but he could tell it wasn’t the destructive hellfire any longer. And once She was apparently satisfied with the transformation, She withdrew Her hand and turned back towards him.

“ **Aziraphale, before I continue, there is something that I must ask of you,** ” She said solemnly. “ **He gave himself to you and created something new with his sacrifice. Will you do the same?** ”

“I thought You said that You wouldn’t restore him.” When She didn’t respond, Aziraphale took a shaky breath and nodded, “Yes, My Lord. I would give him any part of me.”

“ **A brave decision. A rib would be traditional, but that would be for humans...** ”

Her mysterious smile never faltered as She reached into him. Into his chest and into his true form. Aziraphale hissed in pain, trying his best not to flinch away as She pulled something out of him. Something bright and warm that She balanced comfortably in the palm of Her hand. Then She passed Her free hand over his chest and She healed the hole left behind in his true form. The pain disappeared almost as soon as She caused it.

Holding that glowing piece of Aziraphale’s true form in one hand, She gestured with the other towards the pillar of fire. The flames twisted and condensed, following Her command. They flew towards Her and compacted together. Her hands moved. Combing together the separate pieces. Molding and shaping the flames until it no longer resembled fire. Aziraphale couldn’t quite follow or understand the process that he was witnessing. There were numerous things happening on multiple planes, but She was crafting something with the converted hellfire and the portion of the angel’s essence. Something increasingly bright and intense. It didn’t take long before Aziraphale couldn’t look directly at the process. It was too much for human or angelic senses.

Then with a final flare of light, the bright thing solidified. And when Aziraphale risked looking again, he froze. It was a good thing that he was still kneeling on the ground or else he would have risked collapsing. He couldn’t breathe as his heart leapt into his throat.

“Crowley,” he whispered.

It was him. Dressed in black robes, dark wings lax behind him, and beautifully intact, Crowley looked almost exactly as he did when they first met on the walls of Eden. Only his hair was different, his shorter modern style rather than the long curling tresses. His eyes were closed and his limbs limp as if he was merely sleeping, though he was upright and his bare feet floated a few inches off the concrete. He didn’t move, he didn’t breathe, and a quick Look towards his true form proved it to be equally silent and lifeless. But it was _him_. Or at least, it would be.

An empty vessel waiting to be filled with life.

Smiling gently, She touched his shoulder and caused him to drift back, reclining until the silent figure lay horizontally in midair at a comfortable height for Her to deal with. Crowley floated there at almost chest height. Waiting to be awakened back to life. She moved towards his head and lightly brushed back his short hair from his face.

“ **No longer quite a demon and yet not an angel** ,” She said, looking over the red-haired figure carefully. “ **Not that he would wish to be an angel again even if I should offer. No, something else. Something in between. Something new. Something to guard and test humanity alongside you, Aziraphale.** ”

“Will he remember?” asked Aziraphale, his anxious thoughts unearthing the quiet fear.

Crowley had dissolved completely away and She recreated him. But would he be the same person after that or were they starting from scratch? What would that destruction and recreation do to him? Could it affect Crowley’s mind? His memories? Would this rebirth erase everything from before? A blank beginning that undid thousands of years of history? Would he be physically restored, but at the cost of sweeping away everything that made Crowley so dear to him?

Would Crowley even know him anymore? Would Crowley end up as someone new? Someone who wouldn’t like driving fast, causing mischief that annoys and frustrates without actually hurting anyone, drinking wine all evening in the back of a bookshop, listening to his bebop, or performing all those small and subtle acts of kindness that he refused to properly acknowledge? Someone who wouldn’t like or care about Aziraphale?

If so, then he would have to accept it. Even if what She returned to him was a mere shadow of who the demon used to be, Aziraphale would accept it. His heart would break if he ended up a stranger to Crowley. But if that was the cost, then so be it. At least there was a chance that it would be all right rather than a guarantee of a lonely and empty future without his dearest friend. Living in a world where Crowley didn’t exist at all would be worse.

She smiled at his question, but didn’t answer. Instead, She brushed back the red hair again and leaned down towards his slack face.

“ **Not the Gadreel that I first made. Nor the Crawley that they named you after your Fall,** ” She said, Her hands gently cradling his head. “ **Those are not your Name.** ”

Her expression was affectionate and parental as She looked at the silent figure. Then she leaned a little closer and poured Breath and Life into him. The power poured in slow, steady, and deep.

And when She pulled back, She _spake_ , “ ** _Crowley._** ”

The Name spoken with so much power and intent sent a chill through Aziraphale. As if this was something that he was not meant to witness. Something too great and glorious for a lowly principality. Or whatever he was now.

As She let go of his face, Crowley stopped floating and gently sank back to the ground. But Aziraphale could only watch his chest slowly rise and fall, the demon now breathing on his own. They might not technically need to breathe like humans did, but six thousand years on Earth made certain things into strong habits and it was still a reassuring sight. And if he stretched his senses, Aziraphale could feel a vaguely demonic presence. Or a presence that felt more demonic than it did anything else. Tears rolled down the angel’s face for a new reason than before.

He was alive. Crowley was alive.

“ _Mph… uhh_ ,” mumbled Crowley, bleary eyes struggling to open as his head shifted slightly.

The confused and wordless sounds were the most beautiful thing that Aziraphale could have imagined.

“ **Take it slow, My child. Your recreation does not mean that the stress and strain of your destruction did not occur. You were not very kind to yourself in your final moments and that will linger even if the damage and pain are gone.** ”

Golden-yellow eyes yanked open at Her words and fell on Her as She knelt over him. Drowsy confusion slowly gained recognition and comprehension, followed more swiftly by panic. Uncoordinated hands started scrambling as he tried to crawl backwards, not even bothering to sit up. Wings pinned under him fluttered as if instinctively trying to fly away. Slow and even breathing gave way to frantic gasps.

“Why?” squeaked Crowley, his panic and confusion joined by anger, hurt, and fear. “What are You…? How…? Didn’t I…? _Ngk… Why?_ ”

Letting him push himself away a little under Her bemused gaze, She said, “ **You were created with a question on your lips the first time. Why should your rebirth prove any different? Always curious even from the start. And now you have even more reason to want answers.** ”

“Not gonna answer them. Never do,” he said quietly, still trying to scoot away from Her. “Why are You even…? You _never_ answer. Six thousand years of nothing and _now_ You show up? _No_. Leave me alone. You tossed me out and ignored me all this time, so You don’t get to…” Crowley was shaking as he pushed himself into a sitting position, serpentine eyes never leaving Her. “‘M not apologizing. Not to You. _Never_. You and Your stupid, pointless, and completely ineffable—”

Then he suddenly stopped, his eyes somehow managing to widen further. The shaking worsened as the anger drained away, leaving the terrified realization behind. Crowley turned pale as he pulled his legs up, letting his arms wrap around his knees.

“I’m dead,” he whispered. “I died. Is this what happens? We just… show up and You’re there? Or does it get worse?”

“ **You did destroy yourself, that is true. You destroyed yourself in order to create something new, My starbuilder.** ”

“I’m not Yours anymore.”

The words should have come out as a sharp snap, but he barely whispered them. Trying to shake off his overwhelmed and awestruck state from trying to accept that Crowley was actually alive again, Aziraphale carefully crept closer. The demon didn’t seem to even notice, curling even tighter as his wings pressed tightly against his back. One of Crowley’s hands went to his chest after a moment, rubbing at it as if trying to banish an odd sensation.

“ **You were always one of My children. That never changed, regardless of what tests you may have faced. And yes, your tests were more difficult than what some of My creations faced, but you have also met them beautifully. I understand why you cannot yet forgive Me. That does not mean that I do not love you and the others who Fell. It saddened Me, but you are still loved.** ” When he couldn’t seem to find the words to respond, She continued, “ **You created something wonderful today, Crowley. You created something new that has never existed before. A rare occurrence that caught My attention. But your new creation should not be left alone. Which is why I provided a second.** ”

At that point, Aziraphale had crept close enough to wrap an arm around the shaking demon and immediately pulled him into a tight embrace. Crowley struggled for a moment in panic until he twisted around. Then he saw who was holding him and surrendered. His face found its way into Aziraphale’s shoulder and fingers dug into the angel’s clothes. And if the demon’s breathing hitched in a way that suggested sobs, Aziraphale didn’t mention it. In return, Crowley didn’t comment on the tears that he must feel running down the angel’s face.

“Angel,” mumbled Crowley into his shoulder after a little while. “What the… _How?_ ”

His hand drifting up to gently stroke the closest dark wing, Aziraphale said, “It’s fine. You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re both fine. You saved me and She gave you back to me. We’re both here and safe.”

The quiet litany of words soothed both the angel and apparently the demon. He felt Crowley relax into his embrace a little more. Crowley shivered slightly still, but it wasn’t as bad as his previous shaking. Aziraphale kept stroking his wing gently. At the moment, he just wanted to hold the demon close. Remind himself that Crowley existed and was alive. He needed that reassurance. He needed to block out the memory of Crowley dissolving away with the warm, breathing, and solid reality in his arms.

“Why?” asked Crowley quietly. “Why is She here? Why would She help?”

“ **Because you created something new when you grafted your essence into an angel,** ” She said, making the demon flinch. “ **It was different enough to catch My attention. Your restoration involved Me using similar creativity.** ” She smiled at the pair of them. “ **It has been a long time since I have been involved directly in creation. Thank you for the opportunity, little starbuilder. Though perhaps My continued presence is no longer required. Take care, My children.** ”

And then She was gone. Not in a flash of light or a crash of thunder. No dramatics. She simply no longer stood in the quiet and empty warehouse with them. As if She was never there to begin with. Though Aziraphale knew that She had never really left them. The reassuring thought that She continued to watch over her creations warmed him.

“Good riddance,” muttered Crowley.

* * *

Now that She was gone, Crowley hoped that the two of them could have some peace while he tried to process everything. Between not being dead and having a visit from Her, it was a lot. He needed a chance to really think about everything. And he needed to keep holding onto Aziraphale. He definitely needed to keep doing that. Possibly for a few centuries.

Unfortunately, he eventually leaned back slightly with a confused grimace. Crowley rubbed at his chest, trying to banish the odd sensation that had been plaguing him since he apparently started existing again. He wasn’t in pain though. Maybe a little uncomfortable, but not hurting. And even if he was rubbing at his chest, it felt deeper. Maybe in his true form? Regardless, the action sparked a rather thoughtful look from the angel.

“Do you feel a little off?” asked Aziraphale. “Not bad, but just… different than before?”

Nodding, Crowley said, “A bit, yeah. Can’t really describe it. How’d you know?”

“I felt strange after you saved me,” he said gently. “The demonic parts from you felt different. I would assume what you’re feeling is the angelic essence that She gave you from me.”

Crowley touched his chest again, trying to wrap his head around what his angel just said. That when She pulled him from death and nonexistence, She took something out of Aziraphale and put it into him instead. Just like how Crowley tried to repair the damage to the angel. There were pieces of Aziraphale now woven through Crowley’s true form. A demon with a little bit of an angel in him. That bright, warm, and shining essence still filled with Her love.

He didn’t know how to handle it. The idea that he could feel Her love again, even if it was faint and not meant for him, was unnerving. Crowley didn’t know if he wanted to cling to the feeling that he’d thought would never be his again or if he wanted to squirm away from the sensation and anything to do with Her. On the other hand, the angelic essence came from _Aziraphale_. And Crowley would never reject any part of his angel.

But…

“She shouldn’t have done that. Taken a part of you like that,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t want you to be hurt like that. Not for me, angel.”

“It hurt far worse to lose you,” said Aziraphale. “Not having you with me would have been unbearable. A momentary pain was a small price to pay to have you back.” He smiled at Crowley, his hand finally leaving the demon’s wing. “You gave me part of yourself to save my life. I could do no less. I would have given anything to help you.”

Crowley ducked his head at the words. Yes, Crowley would take any risk to save Aziraphale. As he’d already proved rather obviously a short time before with his insane stunt to rebuild the damaged part to the angel’s true form using himself. He’d known how far he would go for Aziraphale for a long time. It was one of the fundamental facts about the universe, right up there with Death being unstoppable and Her being ineffable. But hearing that sentiment returned by Aziraphale made something inside him squirm.

Though part of him rather like it too.

“We’re two of a kind now. A mixture of each other,” he continued. “On our own side in every way.”

And where the previous words made him a little uncomfortable, the new ones and the angel’s warm expression brought a smile to Crowley’s face. He leaned forward again. But rather than bury into his shoulder like before, Crowley reached up for Aziraphale’s head and tilted it slightly until they were pressed together. Resting his forehead against the angel’s felt strangely nice and soothing. Like that’s where he belonged. Staying close to the angel felt right in every way. Curled together and safe. It was what he’d wanted on some level from the very start. Crowley remained there, his forehead pressed against Aziraphale’s forehead, until time seemed to lose all meaning.

Slowly, Aziraphale muttered, “Hellfire doesn’t kill me now.”

“What?” he asked with a slight frown.

“Hastur tried shoving me back in,” explained Aziraphale, his statement starting to actually sink in. “It hurt, but not as much as it should have. And I survived. That part of you that you gave me? It protected me.” He reached for Crowley’s face, vaguely reminding him that he’d lost his sunglasses at some point. “Guess I’m not much of an angel anymore, am I? Not if hellfire doesn’t kill me.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll always be the best angel out of all of them in Heaven. That’ll never change. And look at it this way. You haven’t Fallen anymore than I’ve Risen. Sounds like you’re still a pretty good angel to me.”

“Thank you. And if I have developed a resistance to hellfire, perhaps you are now similarly resistant to holy water. That would be a nice surprise. I wouldn’t have to worry about you as much.”

Laughing quietly, Crowley said, “Come on. I don’t mess around with holy water _that_ much.”

“Did you forget about that heist you were planning a few decades ago?”

“It would have gone _fine_. I worked it all out. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

Aziraphale shook his head and carefully climbed to his feet, pulling Crowley up with him. Wings were tucked away and the angel straightened out his clothes. Which drew Crowley’s attention to his own outfit. Unearthly soft and smooth fabric wrapped around him, the material and style something that he hadn’t worn in thousands of years. Nothing on Earth could produce anything similar.

At least She hadn’t garbed him in white. The old-fashioned dark robes were drastically out of style, but they were thankfully black.

Crowley snapped his fingers. His more usual and up-to-date clothes materialized into place, the black robes ending up folded and tucked under his arm instead of disappearing. And he immediately winced. Performing the miracle didn’t hurt, but it felt weird. It would take some time to get used to all the changes.

“Let’s go home,” said Aziraphale, his still lightly grasping Crowley as their fingers interlaced.

“Sure thing, angel.” Then he paused, an unexpected thought occurring to him. “Any idea where we are?”

“I’m afraid that ‘on Earth’ is the extent of my knowledge.”

Laughing again, Crowley pulled out a set of shades from his coat pocket and slipped them on. Because of course he’d include them in his miracle. Then he headed towards the door, pulling Aziraphale along with their intertwined fingers.

They would figure it out together. All of it. Where they were. The way back to the bookshop. What they were now, both metaphysically and relationship-wise since the changes were bound to mean something. What it meant to be part of each other like that on such an intimate and interwoven level. What they would do now. Everything.

They would figure it out together because that’s what they always do. And if there weren’t any rules or guidelines to follow with these new changes, then they would simply create some.


End file.
